


hit you with the big guns

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Big Time Adolescence (2020)
Genre: Cunnilingus, M/M, Mentions of/References to Gender Dysphoria, Mo is 16, Oral Sex, PWP, Trans Male Character, Trans Monroe Harris, Underage - Freeform, Unsafe Tattooing Techniques, Vaginal Fingering, mild pain play, porn without plot/plot what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 01:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23501197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Zekemeansto say, “Do you want to go take care of that?” but Mo interrupts with, “Do I want help with this? Yes, please.” And his voice is so soft, so sweet, Zeke realizes instantly that there’s no way he can say no.
Relationships: Monroe "Mo" Harris/Zeke Presanti
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	hit you with the big guns

**Author's Note:**

> look first I though of Zeke doing Mo's tattoo, then I thought of trans Mo, and then I thought of Zeke eating Mo out on his dirty little couch while Mo's topless and tender from his tattoo, and now we're here. I tried to balance keeping this fic trans-friendly with also balancing the fact that Zeke probably wouldn't be the most knowledgeable about trans stuff. I hope the balance is there! 
> 
> big thanks to Han for beta'ing!
> 
> (also, I could not for the life of me figure out what their black friend is named??? so I named him Mark.)

He’s not thinking when he says, gleeful, “It’s time.”

He’s not thinking when he says, determined, “I’ve got the perfect idea of where to put it.” 

He’s not thinking when he says, amused, “Mo, take off your shirt.”

Mo immediately crosses his arms over his chest. He stares at Zeke with wide, vulnerable eyes that, frankly, Zeke has no idea how to interpret. Mo mutters, “Dude, _no_ ,” while shifting from foot to foot. His confidence after swapping spit with whatshername is gone, replaced with something that makes Mo seem smaller, shyer. His eyes dart over to Nick before Mo gives Zeke a minute shake of his head. 

Zeke blinks. “What?” He looks over at Nick and Mark; they both look as confused as Zeke feels. 

Mo sighs, still moving from foot to foot for a moment before he wanders closer to Zeke. He braces one hand on Zeke’s shoulder so that he can lean in to whisper against Zeke’s ear. His breath is hot and distracting, and Zeke almost misses his words. “My _binder_ , remember?” 

“Oh, shit, yeah. Fuck.” Zeke looks at Mo as he takes a step back, and then he looks at Nick and Mark again. Nick’s busying himself with wiping Zeke’s tattoo clean, and Mark is busy downing what’s left of his latest beer. Neither of them would really care, but neither of them would really _get it_ , either.

Look, it’s not like Zeke _forgot_ that Mo was born a girl or whatever, but...well, okay, he definitely forgot. He forgets a lot, actually. Mo’s always been Mo—Mo has always been a dude as long as Zeke’s known him. Mo looks like a dude, acts like a dude. The only reason Zeke even knows about it at all is because Mo had come out to him when he was eleven and had just tried chopping off all his own hair. And now, here Mo is, sixteen and scared to get shirtless in front of two guys who don’t know Mo’s little secret. 

Zeke can’t really blame him. 

So Zeke says, “Yo, get the fuck out.”

Nick slaps some saniderm over Zeke’s tattoo and replies, “What? Why?” His tone isn’t really mean so much as confused. Mark is already clambering off the couch and wandering. 

“A dude’s first tattoo is _personal_. And Momo is a little shy, so get the fuck out. We’re outta beer anyway, go get some more.”

Nick scoffs and sets down the tattoo gun. He peels off the gloves, drops them too, and huffs. “No fuckin’ way we’re out of beer.” Even so, he stands and follows Mark out of the house without further complaint.

Mo doesn’t move and Zeke waits it out with him until they hear Nick’s beamer roar to life and groan out of the driveway, down the road. Then, Mo and Zeke are finally alone. 

“C’mon, sit down,” Zeke says as he climbs off the couch. “Shirt off, binder off.”

“Dude, I’m not letting you see my chest,” Mo says as he tugs his shirt off. 

“C’mon, it’ll be so funny dude. Tongue daddy, right by your nipple!”

“No one ever sees my nipples, _dude_!” Mo wrings his hands in his t-shirt. “It’s pointless, just like, put it on my shoulder, or something.”

“It’ll be hysterical,” Zeke says again.

“Zeke, I’m gonna get surgery as soon as I’m eighteen, I might have to get skin grafts or something. I might not even get to keep my nipples.”

Zeke pauses. “Dude, that’s so fucking weird.”

Mo laughs and nods. “Yeah, it’s weird.” 

“But, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get this tattoo. It’ll be funny as fuck! And if you do have to get rid of it when you get rid of your tits or whatever, then call me up and I’ll come redo it.” 

Zeke watches Mo bite the inside of his lip, a nervous move. The words bubble up and out of Zeke suddenly, without him really having to think about it. 

“Besides, you hate your chest, right?” 

“Yeah,” Mo agrees quietly. He finally falls onto the couch. 

“Maybe this’ll make you hate it less, huh?” Zeke drops to his knees on the floor and reaches for the gloves Nick abandoned. He examines them before tossing them aside. His hands are clean enough, and the tattoo will be small, quick, easy. “A fun little reminder, yeah?”

Mo bites his bottom lip. Eventually, he nods. “Yeah, okay, sure.” 

Zeke sits back and watches as Mo worms out of his binder and sets it aside and then that’s Mo’s chest, bare of clothing and hair. His nipples are pert and his tits aren’t huge, wouldn’t be even if he was a girl, but Zeke kind of can’t help but stare. Mo’s hands fall into his lap and he taps his fingers on his thighs.

“Zeke?” Mo asks, voice impossibly small. “The tattoo?”

Zeke shakes his head as if he can shake off the daze of seeing Mo shirtless. “Yeah, totally, dude, sorry.” He shifts the gun in one hand and reaches for the pot of ink with the other. “This is gonna hurt, okay?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Mo says, but he’s smiling. “How bad?”

“Uhh…” Zeke tries to think back to some of his earlier tattoos and how it felt. “Kinda like being stabbed with a real tiny needle but like, not _bad_. Unless your chest is really sensitive, n’then it might hurt more.” Zeke shrugs as he gets the gun ready and buzzes it a few times. “You ready?” 

Mo inhales deeply and leans back against the couch. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Just tell me if you need me to stop. Shouldn’t take long, though.”

“That’s what she said,” Mo says in a voice that quakes. It’s not that funny, but Zeke laughs anyway.

“On three,” Zeke says before counting down. Mo inhales once, sharply, as buzzing fills the room and Zeke presses the tip of the gun to Mo’s fair skin. Mo doesn’t move, at least, and Zeke’s hand is steady since he’s not as drunk or stoned as he could be. “How you feeling, Momo?”

“Hurts,” Mo says through clenched teeth, “feels weird.”

“Yeah, near the nip is kind of an intense choice for your first one.”

“It was your idea!” Mo gasps. He doesn’t move but his hands clench in his jeans. 

“I know! It’s sick!” Zeke reaches for a wipe to clear away excess ink and the faint bit of blood. _Tongue_ is complete, and for a moment Zeke is possessed with the urge to write “here” with a fun little arrow pointing at Mo’s nip. “You married to the tattoo being tongue daddy?” Zeke asks.

“Did you spell it wrong already?” Mo asks, his eyes flying open.

“What? No!”

“Then yes! Just stick with tongue daddy, oh my god.” Mo laughs slightly and Zeke has to wait for him to stop shaking before he can start inking again. 

“Got it.” Zeke brings the gun back down. Aside from Mo’s heavy breathing and the buzz of the tattoo gun, writing out the word “daddy” is spent in silence. Zeke wipes Mo’s chest clean again and admires the tattoo—simple, clean, not too close to the nipple but close enough that it’s still pretty fucking funny. “All done.”

“That’s it?” Mo asks. His voice shakes, but it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. 

“Yeah, easy peasy, right?” Zeke sets the gun aside and wipes his fingers clean before tossing the paper towel aside. “Looks dope, lemme get some wrap.” 

He tears off a piece of saniderm, wipes Mo’s tattoo clean one last time, before slapping the wrap over it gently. He presses it down and trails his fingers to the edges of the wrap to make sure it stays down. The wrap shimmers against Mo’s chest, which rises and falls a little faster than normal.

“You good, Mo?”

“Uh huh,” Mo says softly, breathily. “Thanks, Zeke.”

“No prob.” Zeke doesn’t move. He’s kneeling on the floor, Mo’s legs spread to make space for him. “You sure you’re good? You’re kinda shaking, dude.”

“I, uh, might be...a little turned on,” Mo admits. 

Zeke blinks. In his sweats, his dick twitches. “Oh, that’s normal.”

“Yeah?” 

“Totally. Some people get really into that. Like, one time, I got this tattoo on my leg and totally popped a boner. Just happens.” Zeke shrugs. “Do you, like—?”

Zeke _means_ to say, “Do you want to go take care of that?” but Mo interrupts with, “Do I want help with this? Yes, please.” And his voice is so soft, so sweet, Zeke realizes instantly that there’s no way he can say no. 

He’s done a good job of ignoring the way Mo kind of makes his dick hard, because Mo is sixteen and Zeke’s known him since he was ten and that’s just weird. But Mo’s eyes are wide, his nipples are hard, and Zeke thinks he might bust a nut just looking at him. There’s just no way he could ever say no to Mo. 

“Yeah, okay,” Zeke says as he goes for the button and zipper of Mo’s jeans. “Never knew you were a freak for pain.”

“Me neither,” Mo whines as Zeke pulls his jeans and briefs down. Mo lifts his hips as that Zeke can pull them down to his ankles and then—

And then Mo is _naked_ on Zeke’s _couch_. With a tattoo that’s red and tender, done by Zeke’s own hand. With his legs spread, exposing his bush of pubes and how he’s so wet he’s glistening. 

Zeke groans and bites on his knuckles. “Fuck, Momo.”

“Zeke, please,” Mo whines. He spreads his legs a little wider and well, how the fuck is Zeke supposed to resist?

He shoulders his way between Mo’s legs, helping him out of his pants so he can hook Mo’s knee over his shoulder, and then he seals his lips over Mo. It’s hot and hard against his tongue, the wiry feeling of pubes scratching at his lips. Mo keens, fucking _wails_ , the moment Zeke’s tongue touches him. 

“What do I call it?” Zeke asks, though he doesn’t pull back far. He knows the vibrations of his voice will fucking wreck Mo, and he’s proven right when Mo’s head simply lolls back. “Mo, what do I call this?” He thumbs at Mo’s nub—because sure on a girl he’d call it a clit, but this isn’t a girl, it’s _Mo_.

“Cock, whatever, I don’t care.” Mo’s knee tightens on his shoulder and pulls him that much closer. “Please, just touch me.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Zeke says before ducking his head again. 

He seals his lips around Mo’s little cock and _sucks_. He cups one hand under Mo’s unbearably soft thigh so he can get closer. He opens his mouth against Mo and drags the flat of his tongue over Mo. Broad, slow strokes that have Mo knotting his hand in Zeke’s hair and pulling. His thighs are quivering on either side of Zeke’s head and part of him wants to climb onto the couch and slip his dick inside Mo.

Because Mo is _wet_ , Zeke can feel it all along his chin and it drives him fucking _crazy_. 

“Zeke,” Mo gasps somewhere above him, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“No one’s ever done this for you, huh?” Zeke pulls back long enough to ask.

“I just had my first kiss an hour ago, you fuck, _no_.” Mo tugs at Zeke’s hair to drag his mouth back down. Zeke goes without complaint, though he smirks to himself. Knowing he’s the first person to get his mouth on Mo, precious, delicious Mo, is something Zeke didn’t even know he wanted. “Ah, ah, _ah_ ,” Mo whines as Zeke shifts lower to slip his tongue inside him. 

He can’t reach far, not without hauling Mo forward or tipping him backwards so that Zeke can bury his face between his thighs. But it’s enough to slip his tongue inside somewhere no one else has ever been and listen to Mo cry out like he’s dying in the best sort of way. There’s a dull thud, and Zeke glances up to watch Mo slap his hand against the wall, over and over, like he can’t help himself. 

Zeke moans against Mo and works his tongue inside just a little deeper, needing just a little more of a taste before he slides back up to Mo’s cock. He works his hand between Mo’s thighs and presses one finger inside him, going slow and steady. All the while, he works Mo’s cock with his tongue, and he’s rewarded with what could maybe be classified as a _scream_.

Still gently thrusting his finger inside Mo, Zeke murmurs, “You gotta keep it down, Mo, my neighbors are gonna think I’m murdering you.”

“You are,” Mo pants out with a shiver. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.”

“Sorta the point, Mo.” He presses a wet, smacking kiss to Mo’s cock as he crooks his finger and gets a half-scream, half-gasp for his trouble. “C’mon, what do you need?” 

“I don’t know,” Mo whines, “m’close.” 

Zeke hums as he swirls his tongue around Mo’s cock. He keeps fucking his finger into Mo, relishing the wet, soft drag against his finger. He reaches up with his free hand—and no one can ever say that Zeke isn’t fucking great at multitasking—and presses down against Mo’s fresh tattoo. The wrap keeps it covered but Zeke knows that won’t stop the blooming ache of tender skin being abused. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Mo gasps as he rocks forward. His hands dig into Zeke’s hair and shove his face down, forcing him closer to Mo’s cock, like he’s trying to suffocate Zeke between his thighs. Zeke works his finger in short quick strokes inside Mo, and Mo presses his chest against Zeke’s hand, into the ache, needy. “I’m coming,” Mo manages to say, voice pitchy and tight as he starts to tighten around Zeke’s finger. 

Zeke groans. His lungs hurt, it’s hard to breathe being smothered by Mo, but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. His dick throbs at the feeling of Mo clenching around his finger, at Mo’s stiff little cock pressed to his tongue, the feeling of Mo’s pert nipple against his palm. Mo writhes as he comes, hands flexing in Zeke’s hair and the heel of his foot hitting Zeke’s back. 

Then, abruptly, he falls back, boneless and breathless. His knee slips from Zeke’s shoulders and his hands loosen their grip on Zeke’s poor hair. 

Zeke leans back and licks his lips. As he sucks his finger clean, he takes stock of Mo’s appearance: flushed a deep red, chest heaving, legs twitching. “Fuck,” he groans. 

“Yeah,” Mo replies softly. “Fuck.” 

Zeke wipes his mouth clean on the sleeve of his shirt. “How you feel?”

“Good, so good.” Mo’s eyes flutter and he adds, “Kinda sleepy.”

“Drinking, a tattoo, and the best orgasm of your life? Of course you’re sleepy.” 

Mo smiles and laughs softly. “Want me to do you?” 

_God yes,_ Zeke thinks. “Nah, not tonight,” he says instead. “Let’s get you dressed and get you home. S’getting late.” 

Mo pouts but he doesn’t protest. He goes for his briefs and pants first, pulling them on as he lifts his hips. Zeke can’t help but look between Mo’s thighs, and can’t help but imagine being between them again. Zeke forces himself to look away. Mo reaches for his binder and pulls it on with only a little difficulty. He winces once it settles over his chest and his hand pats at where the tattoo is. “Sore,” he says.

Zeke retrieves Mo’s shirt from the floor and passes it to him. “Yeah, it’s gonna be sore for a few days. Just leave the saniderm on there for a bit and it’ll be fine, yeah?” Zeke stands and brushes wrinkles from his shirt. His cock is still hard and tents noticeably at the front of his sweats. 

Mo nods. He shrugs on his shirt and Zeke helps him to stand. “You sure you don’t want me to…” Mo’s gaze, sleepy as it is, drops down to the front of Zeke’s sweats. 

“Nah, Momo, s’fine. I’ll take care of myself when I get back. Don’t you worry about it.” 

Mo bites his bottom lip. “Okay.” He looks like he might say something else—maybe _next time_ , Zeke thinks hopefully, before pushing the thought away. “Okay.”

Zeke gestures for Mo to lead the way out of the house. The car ride back is quiet but not as awkward as it could be. He did a good thing tonight, he thinks; he gave Mo a sick tattoo, and gave him a helping hand, and that’s all. Mo had an itch and Zeke scratched it, simple as that. 

“Zeke,” Mo says as they idle in the Harris driveway. “Tonight…” Mo sighs. “Tonight was really good.”

“Yeah? M’glad you like the tattoo.”

“I’m not talking about the tattoo, Zeke.” Mo won’t look at him and Zeke can just barely make out the soft blush across his cheeks. There’s a determined crease in his brow that makes Zeke think maybe Mo’s been working up the nerve to say something for a while. Or at least for the drive from Zeke’s to his parents’. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. S’no problem. Just helping a friend out, ya know?”

“Right.” Mo’s gaze finally finds him. “What if I need your help again? Or what if I wanna help you?” 

Zeke gulps. “Uh, just like, give me a call, I guess.” Sure, Zeke has managed to ignore the way Mo makes him feel, but...well, it seems silly to shove the cat back in the bag now. Besides, the way Mo’s looking at him, lidded eyes and lips parted, is too much to resist. If they weren’t in the Harris driveway—if Reuben weren’t watching them from the kitchen window like he definitely must be—Zeke would kiss Mo. He didn’t get to tonight, didn’t think of it, and now he wants it. 

“Okay,” Mo agrees, breaking into a grin. “I’ll call you.”

“Kay,” Zeke says and watches Mo clamber out of the car. 

Mo stops at the front door and gives Zeke a wave; Zeke waves back, dazed. He waits a few minutes until he can remember how to drive and breathe at the same time. Before he can pull away, his phone buzzes.

Zeke chokes on his next breath; it’s not the best sext he’s ever gotten, it’s barely a sext at all. It’s a shot of Mo in bed with his hand down his pants and the caption reads, _thinking of calling you soon_. Zeke’s cock, which never went soft so much as he managed to ignore it for the last twenty minutes, gives an excited twitch.

Zeke swallows. He pulls out of the Harris’ driveway and shoots off a reply as he pulls back onto the main road.

**to: mo  
** _can’t wait_


End file.
